Nicholas Nickleby
who was of a violent and brutal temper; a circumstance which he thought
might in some degree account, both for her having sought the protection
and friendship of the brothers, and her suffering herself to be
prevailed upon to grant the promised interview. The last he held to be a
very logical deduction from the premises, inasmuch as it was but natural
to suppose that a young lady, whose present condition was so unenviable,
would be more than commonly desirous to change it.
It appeared, on further questioning--for it was only by a very long and
arduous process that all this could be got out of Newman Noggs--that
Newman, in explanation of his shabby appearance, had represented himself
as being, for certain wise and indispensable purposes connected with
that intrigue, in disguise; and, being questioned how he had come to
exceed his commission so far as to procure an interview, he responded,
that the lady appearing willing to grant it, he considered himself
bound, both in duty and gallantry, to avail himself of such a golden
means of enabling Nicholas to prosecute his addresses. After these and
all possible questions had been asked and answered twenty times over,
they parted, undertaking to meet on the following night at half-past
ten, for the purpose of fulfilling the appointment; which was for eleven
o’clock.
‘Things come about very strangely!’ thought Nicholas, as he walked
home. ‘I never contemplated anything of this kind; never dreamt of the
possibility of it. To know something of the life of one in whom I felt
such interest; to see her in the street, to pass the house in which she
lived, to meet her sometimes in her walks, to hope that a day might
come when I might be in a condition to tell her of my love, this was
the utmost extent of my thoughts. Now, however--but I should be a fool,
indeed, to repine at my own good fortune!’
Still, Nicholas was dissatisfied; and there was more in the
dissatisfaction than mere revulsion of feeling. He was angry with the
young lady for being so easily won, ‘because,’ reasoned Nicholas, ‘it is
not as if she knew it was I, but it might have been anybody,’--which was
certainly not pleasant. The next moment, he was angry with himself for
entertaining such thoughts, arguing that nothing but goodness could
dwell in such a temple, and that the behaviour of the brothers
sufficiently showed the estimation in which they held her. ‘The fact
is, she’s a mystery altogether,’ said Nicholas. This was not more
satisfactory than his previous course of reflection, and only drove him
out upon a new sea of speculation and conjecture, where he tossed and
tumbled, in great discomfort of mind, until the clock struck ten, and
the hour of meeting drew nigh.
Nicholas had dressed himself with great care, and even Newman Noggs had
trimmed himself up a little; his coat presenting the phenomenon of
two consecutive buttons, and the supplementary pins being inserted at
tolerably regular intervals. He wore his hat, too, in the newest
taste, with a pocket-handkerchief in the crown, and a twisted end of it
straggling out behind after the fashion of a pigtail, though he could
scarcely lay claim to the ingenuity of inventing this latter decoration,
inasmuch as he was utterly unconscious of it: being in a nervous and
excited condition which rendered him quite insensible to everything but
the great object of the expedition.
They traversed the streets in profound silence; and after walking at a
round pace for some distance, arrived in one, of a gloomy appearance and
very little frequented, near the Edgeware Road.
‘Number twelve,’ said Newman.
‘Oh!’ replied Nicholas, looking about him.
‘Good street?’ said Newman.
‘Yes,’ returned Nicholas. ‘Rather dull.’
Newman made no answer to this remark, but, halting abruptly, planted
Nicholas with his back to some area railings, and gave him to understand
that he was to wait there, without moving hand or foot, until it was
satisfactorily ascertained that the coast was clear. This done, Noggs
limped away with great alacrity; looking over his shoulder every
instant, to make quite certain that Nicholas was obeying his directions;
and, ascending the steps of a house some half-dozen doors off, was lost
to view.
After a short delay, he reappeared, and limping back again, halted
midway, and beckoned Nicholas to follow him.
‘Well?’ said Nicholas, advancing towards him on tiptoe.
‘All right,’ replied Newman, in high glee. ‘All ready; nobody at home.
Couldn’t be better. Ha! ha!’
With this fortifying assurance, he stole past a street-door, on which
Nicholas caught a glimpse of a brass plate, with ‘BOBSTER,’ in very
large letters; and, stopping at the area-gate, which was open, signed to
his young friend to descend.
‘What the devil!’ cried Nicholas, drawing back. ‘Are we to sneak into
the kitchen, as if we came after the forks?’
‘Hush!’ replied Newman. ‘Old Bobster--ferocious Turk. He’d kill ‘em
all--box the young lady’s ears--he does--often.’
‘What!’ cried Nicholas, in high wrath, ‘do you mean to tell me that any
man would dare to box the ears of such a--’
He had no time to sing the praises of his mistress, just then, for
Newman gave him a gentle push which had nearly precipitated him to the
bottom of the area steps. Thinking it best to take the hint in good
part, Nicholas descended, without further remonstrance, but with a
countenance bespeaking anything rather than the hope and rapture of a
passionate lover. Newman followed--he would have followed head first,
but for the timely assistance of Nicholas--and, taking his hand, led him
through a stone passage, profoundly dark, into a back-kitchen or cellar,
of the blackest and most pitchy obscurity, where they stopped.
‘Well!’ said Nicholas, in a discontented whisper, ‘this is not all, I
suppose, is it?’
‘No, no,’ rejoined Noggs; ‘they’ll be here directly. It’s all right.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Nicholas. ‘I shouldn’t have thought it, I
confess.’
They exchanged no further words, and there Nicholas stood, listening to
the loud breathing of Newman Noggs, and imagining that his nose seemed
to glow like a red-hot coal, even in the midst of the darkness which
enshrouded them. Suddenly the sound of cautious footsteps attracted his
ear, and directly afterwards a female voice inquired if the gentleman
was there.
‘Yes,’ replied Nicholas, turning towards the corner from which the voice
proceeded. ‘Who is that?’
‘Only me, sir,’ replied the voice. ‘Now if you please, ma’am.’
A gleam of light shone into the place, and presently the servant girl
appeared, bearing a light, and followed by her young mistress, who
seemed to be overwhelmed by modesty and confusion.
At sight of the young lady, Nicholas started and changed colour; his
heart beat violently, and he stood rooted to the spot. At that instant,
and almost simultaneously with her arrival and that of the candle, there
was heard a loud and furious knocking at the street-door, which caused
Newman Noggs to jump up, with great agility, from a beer-barrel on which
he had been seated astride, and to exclaim abruptly, and with a face of
ashy paleness, ‘Bobster, by the Lord!’
The young lady shrieked, the attendant wrung her hands, Nicholas gazed
from one to the other in apparent stupefaction, and Newman hurried to
and fro, thrusting his hands into all his pockets successively, and
drawing out the linings of every one in the excess of his irresolution.
It was but a moment, but the confusion crowded into that one moment no
imagination can exaggerate.
‘Leave the house, for Heaven’s sake! We have done wrong, we deserve it
all,’ cried the young lady. ‘Leave the house, or I am ruined and undone
for ever.’
‘Will you hear me say but one word?’ cried Nicholas. ‘Only one. I will
not detain you. Will you hear me say one word, in explanation of this
mischance?’
But Nicholas might as well have spoken to the wind, for the young lady,
with distracted looks, hurried up the stairs. He would have followed
her, but Newman, twisting his hand in his coat collar, dragged him
towards the passage by which they had entered.
‘Let me go, Newman, in the Devil’s name!’ cried Nicholas. ‘I must speak
to her. I will! I will not leave this house without.’
‘Reputation--character--violence--consider,’ said Newman, clinging round
him with both arms, and hurrying him away. ‘Let them open the door.
We’ll go, as we came, directly it’s shut. Come. This way. Here.’
Overpowered by the remonstrances of Newman, and the tears and prayers
of the girl, and the tremendous knocking above, which had never ceased,
Nicholas allowed himself to be hurried off; and, precisely as Mr. Bobster
made his entrance by the street-door, he and Noggs made their exit by
the area-gate.
They hurried away, through several streets, without stopping or
speaking. At last, they halted and confronted each other with blank and
rueful faces.
‘Never mind,’ said Newman, gasping for breath. ‘Don’t be cast down. It’s
all right. More fortunate next time. It couldn’t be helped. I did MY
part.’
‘Excellently,’ replied Nicholas, taking his hand. ‘Excellently, and like
the true and zealous friend you are. Only--mind, I am not disappointed,
Newman, and feel just as much indebted to you--only IT WAS THE WRONG
LADY.’
‘Eh?’ cried Newman Noggs. ‘Taken in by the servant?’
‘Newman, Newman,’ said Nicholas, laying his hand upon his shoulder: ‘it
was the wrong servant too.’
Newman’s under-jaw dropped, and he gazed at Nicholas, with his sound eye
fixed fast and motionless in his head.
‘Don’t take it to heart,’ said Nicholas; ‘it’s of no consequence; you
see I don’t care about it; you followed the wrong person, that’s all.’
That WAS all. Whether Newman Noggs had looked round the pump, in a
slanting direction, so long, that his sight became impaired; or whether,
finding that there was time to spare, he had recruited himself with a
few drops of something stronger than the pump could yield--by whatsoever
means it had come to pass, this was his mistake. And Nicholas went home
to brood upon it, and to meditate upon the charms of the unknown young
lady, now as far beyond his reach as ever.
CHAPTER 41
Containing some Romantic Passages between Mrs. Nickleby and the Gentleman
in the Small-clothes next Door
Ever since her last momentous conversation with her son, Mrs. Nickleby
had begun to display unusual care in the adornment of her person,
gradually superadding to those staid and matronly habiliments,
which had, up to that time, formed her ordinary attire, a variety of
embellishments and decorations, slight perhaps in themselves, but,
taken together, and considered with reference to the subject of
her disclosure, of no mean importance. Even her black dress assumed
something of a deadly-lively air from the jaunty style in which it was
worn; and, eked out as its lingering attractions were; by a prudent
disposal, here and there, of certain juvenile ornaments of little or no
value, which had, for that reason alone, escaped the general wreck and
been permitted to slumber peacefully in odd corners of old drawers and
boxes where daylight seldom shone, her mourning garments assumed quite
a new character. From being the outward tokens of respect and sorrow for
the dead, they became converted into signals of very slaughterous and
killing designs upon the living.
Mrs. Nickleby might have been stimulated to this proceeding by a lofty
sense of duty, and impulses of unquestionable excellence. She might, by
this time, have become impressed with the sinfulness of long indulgence
in unavailing woe, or the necessity of setting a proper example of
neatness and decorum to her blooming daughter. Considerations of duty
and responsibility apart, the change might have taken its rise in